Awakening
by Mellkat86
Summary: Story is set after the events of 7-04. Weaver is trying to deal with the flashbacks that have been happening since being shot. But there is something familiar about them...
1. Chapter 1

Weaver entered his apartment, tossing his keys to the nearby table, and kicked the door closed behind him, a bag of takeout clutched against his body. The apartment was dark and quiet. He abstained from turning on any lights, knowing the path well enough not to bump into any furniture on his journey to the kitchen. He entered and placed the takeout onto the counter, hidden by the darkness. Taking his gun out from its holster and unclipping his badge from his belt, Weaver discarded them to the counter beside his takeout and breathed heavily.

His mind swarmed with memories. A woman's face had haunted him during his stay at the hospital and had stayed with him on the journey home. Her loving smile was constant, never wavering even for a second. Who she was, he could not tell you, but she was in the forefront of all the memories he had acquired.

There had always been talk in the locker room from officers, who had been shot in the line of duty, that images from their lives had flashed before their eyes as they felt themselves dying. However, he had never heard of gaining new ones. Of remembering a life, two lives, or possibly three, from another time. As he stepped over to the cabinet containing his half-drunk bottle of whiskey, Weaver pondered whether they were memories of previous lives he had lived, seeing as one of them seemed to contain memories of riding horses, wielding a blade and outfits that looked straight out of a fantasy TV show. Forcefully he shook his head at the idea and opened the cabinet to claim his bottle of whiskey.

He yanked open the cutlery draw and selected a fork before shunting the draw close with his hip, frowning at the image of the woman. She would not leave him, imprinted into his mind's eye. Snatching up his takeout bag from the counter, Weaver scoffed at the idea of getting one of the crime lab boys to sketch her out for him, much like the image Rogers was keeping in the top draw of his desk.

In that moment of thinking of Rogers, images flashed into his head, where Rogers was with a brown haired woman, dressed as what can only be described as a pirate. The woman was awfully familiar. Her face bore a resemblance to the other face, to the young boy, who kept calling him 'Papa' in his dreams in the hospital. Maybe they were disillusions, he thought to himself as he sat down onto his couch and put his meal for the evening on the coffee table. Morphine did have a knack of messing with someone's mind. But… Why were they so vivid?

Weaver picked out the carton of Chinese food and squeezed the sides of the carton to pop the flaps open. The smell of his chow mein floated up from the carton. He dipped his nose to the carton and took a deep whiff of his noodles.

"So much better than hospital food." He said to the empty room. He placed the carton onto the table and leaned across the couch to turn on the lamp stood by the end of the couch. The light from the lamp washed over the couch and coffee table, hardly lighting anything beyond the small area. After righting himself, Weaver snatched up the remote and zapped the television. The remote clattered onto the coffee table, discarded for the rest of the evening, as he settled back into the couch with his carton of take out and twirled some noodles onto his fork, crossing his feet onto the coffee table.

The news channel appeared as it always did. A reminder there was life outside the four walls of his apartment. The two presenters chatted nicely about some charity event that would be taking place soon, commending a local business that was donating a large sum of money and resources to the cause. He rolled his eyes as he fed some of his noodles into his mouth, thinking how it was another PR stunt.

" _You toy with words… Like you do people._ "

Weaver frowned with his fork protruding from his mouth. Turning his head gradually from side to side, his eyes swept through the shadows, checking he was alone in his apartment. He knew she was not there. He knew he was alone. He felt he was alone. But… It felt as if something was missing. Someone was missing. She was missing.

He slid the fork out of his mouth and began to munch on his mouth of noodles, wondering if maybe he should listen to his Captain for once. Maybe he should have a session with the shrink. But then… They would think he was mad and report it back to the Captain. In his head, he could hear what the shrink would say to his Captain, 'Yes, sir, Detective Weaver has suffered a mental break. He believes he has memories of lives he has lived previously'.

"Just what I need." He mumbled scooping another load of noodles onto his fork.

" _You need courage… to let me._ "

Clamping his eyes shut the image of the woman, spinning round on her heel and waltzing out of the kitchen was so real, he swore he could feel the cool gold handle of the cane in his hand. The fine silk shirt fitted him perfectly, the tie slightly loose, with his belt a snug fit around his waist. Just the way he liked it. His finger played with the moon ring on his right hand, twisting it back in forth as he thought about her statements.

The carton quietly thudded onto the coffee in unison with his feet dropping to the floor. Droplets of sauce shot up from inside the carton and decorated the coffee table, single droplets dotted about the table. The fork fell from the carton, clattering onto the table, as Weaver blinked his eyes wide a couple of times and tried to process the daydream… The hallucination… The memory… Whatever it was, he did not like feeling that lingered. The regret of not following her squeezed his heart and twisted his gut. It was as though he was there, living through it. He could smell the bouquet of roses on the other side of the room that he had given her the night before. No… That the man had given the woman the night before, swooning in from a day at work… at the shop with the large bouquet in his arms.

Weaver snatched up the bottle of whiskey from the table and spun the lid from the bottle, and took an unhealthy swig from the bottle. It would not mix well with the drugs still circulating in his system, but he needed something to numb the pain.

"… _all I wanted to do was let go."_

The bottle banged on the coffee table as Weaver choked on the whiskey he had been swallowing. Her face lingered, confusion and concern shone in her eyes as she stared at him. He coughed into the back of his hand, staring aimlessly in the direction of television. Never had he ever felt indebted to anyone. Weaver did things himself, never relied on anyone. The emotion weighed heavily on his shoulders as her face remained.

Sitting still, he was tempted to reach out and touch her. Stroke the back of his fingers down her cheek. Kiss her soft pliable lips. He wanted to cup her face between his hands and hold onto her until the end of time.

" _It's time to let me go."_

"I can't." He muttered into the back of his hand. Hearing the words shocked him. His voice sounded strange, like the man's voice from hallucinations… the memories. A shiver ran through his body. Weaver closed his eyes and stayed still. Maybe, if he did not move or think about anything, the delusions would stop.

Three loud raps came from the direction of his apartment's door. Weaver jumped at the sound and chastised himself for being weak. He shook his head at himself getting up from the couch and headed down the corridor to his front door. As his hand came to the knob of the lock, another three raps banged on the door. Twisting the knob, Weaver released the door and opened it, shouldering up against the wall beside the doorframe. He used his food to jam the door, letting it open enough to see who it was, and was surprised to see Rogers on the other side of the door.

"Rogers?" He questioned.

Rogers's lip curled back slightly before he said. "Thought I'd pop by and see how the old crocodile was doing."

The smell of the sea air lingered in the air. It was dark. The cloak he wore was heavy, but not as restrictive as the leather hide suit he wore. Rogers came towards him with a grin on his face, he would have ripped from any other man but there was something burning inside of him. A passion… A need for… Revenge. A drive to get payback. To take his pound of flesh from the pirate.

"Weaver?" Rogers questioned gently pushing on the door, making it bang off Weaver's foot.

"What?" Weaver blurted, torn back to reality.

"I asked if you were okay." His face was full of concern. "I can see you're not."

Frowning, Weaver jolted his head back saying. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see how my partner was doing, but I wish I hadn't." Rogers grumbled, taking a step back from the doorway.

"I'm fine. Now you can go." He said dismissively and went to shut the door.

"Hang on!" Rogers Irish accent became more prominent as the younger man shoved his foot between the door and the doorframe. "Don't be like that. I really just came by to see how you're doing."

Weaver opened the door a little and leaned his head through the gap. "As you can see, dearie, I'm just fine."

Rogers's eyebrow curved high up his forehead. "Okay, sweet pea."

"Excuse me?" Weaver's eyes were wide as he spoke.

"You called me 'dearie'." Rogers informed him, gesturing his hand towards Weaver. "I heard of partners sometimes using terms of endearment to each other. But I never thought you would be one."

"Look," Weaver sucked in a breath to steady himself. "I'm not feeling great and I've got pills and stuff to take. And I'm tired."

Rogers squinted his eyes at him. "If you need anything, just call."

"I doubt it, but thank you." He said hoping Rogers would leave. Rogers smiled backing away from the door and turned to amble down the corridor. For a short while, Weaver watched him leave, making sure he left, and shut the door when Rogers went through the door for the apartment building's stairs. The lock clicked into place. Sighing Weaver leant his head against the door and stood there, wishing everyone would leave him alone.

" _I think you were lonely…"_

Her voice startled him. He jumped round, forcing his back to mould to wall and looked about his apartment. There was no one apart from him and the shadows cast by the lonely lamp by the couch. Standing there, it felt like the darkness was drawing in on him. Crawling at him to come to it.

" _I've lost you to darkness…"_

Quickly he walked away from the doorway, and the darkness, and retook his place on the couch, settling happily into the light shining from the lamp. He stared into the darkness of his apartment. Unseen hands reached out towards him. Weaver could feel them. Feel the pull. The internal fight to stay in the light. His breathing quickened, his chest heaved in and out as a part of him wanted to embrace itself into the darkness. Bathe in the security that the darkness offered him.

" _You brought light into my life and chased away all of the darkness."_

"Belle…" Weaver whispered as his brow scrunched down over his eyes.

A warmth radiated at his side. Snapping his head in the direction of the warmth, Weaver's frown slowly gave way to allow his eyebrows to raise up his forehead. Beautiful was the only word that came to mind. A beauty that no one else would ever comprehend. Yes, physically they would see it, but they would never see the layers that he had seen. The depth he had seen over the years.

The warmth caressed his face, cupping his cheek. "I told you, you'll never lose me."

A bright light blinded him momentarily before it eased, revealing a wooden house he had seen only in his dreams. Weaver looked around, confused by the change of décor and the lack of darkness. The house was so bright, he thought he would go blind.

"Rumple." She called in that loving tone, making his name sound light and airy. For so many centuries, his name had been said with such heaviness, it was a burden too heavy to carry at times.

Pivoting round, he smiled at her. "Belle."

Another bright flash of light and she was within his arms, holding him tightly against her. "You need to find the path back to me."

"I will." He told her honestly, staring longingly into her eyes.

"But you need to help Henry first." She told him with a stern look in her eyes. "Get his story back on track."

"What?" Rumple questioned, angling his head.

Belle smiled knowingly at him. "He needs his grandfather."

He reached up over her arm around his neck and stroked the back of his finger down the side of her face. "I need you."

"I'm with you." She said easing him. "But your grandson and great grand-daughter need you."

"Oh, Belle!" He muttered feeling a tear cascade down his cheek.

"You can do it, Rumple!" Belle told him, clasping her hands tightly around the back of his neck.

He whimpered, his chin quivered, as he said. "I can't do it without you."

"You're my Rumple." She said smiling. "You can do anything."

Rumple took an exaggerated breath, hitching as he breathed in, and stared directly into Belle's eyes. She had such strength in her belief of him it scared him. He wanted nothing more than to find a stone and crawl underneath it, hiding himself from the world. However, Rumple wanted to please her. Wanted her to see the hero inside of him. The saviour he could have been, if his mother had not intervened and cut away his fate.

"Belle," Rumple whispered. "I love you."

"And I love you." She said reciprocating his feelings.

Time seemed to stand still as they leant towards one another. Rumple closed his eyes tight, wanting to savour every moment he had with her. He knew his world was about to end all over again, but could not help himself as their lips touched tentatively at first. Guilty he wanted to stay in the moment for all eternity. Kissing the woman he loved until time ended. But he knew, she would never want that. Belle would want him to fight, to correct the wrong doings. To be the good man, she had always seen hidden behind the mask of the beast. Be her hero.

Three loud raps awoke Rumple. He sat up and looked about his apartment. It was not anything he would have picked for himself. Over the centuries he had been alive, he had become accustomed to having some taste and decorum. The apartment he sat in needed a fresh coat of paint and some life injecting into it. It would never have lived up to Belle's expectations.

"Weaver!" A voice yelled from the other side of his apartment's door.

In front of him, sat the partly eaten chow mein and open bottle of whiskey. His eyebrow cocked at the Chinese takeout carton. The smell of it repulse him. It had taken Belle months to get him to try sweet and sour chicken and even then, it had been under protest.

"Weaver! Come on!" The voice called again.

Slowly he raised up from the couch and shuffled across the apartment to the doorway. Rumple wondered what he had gotten himself into this time, as he tugged down the camouflage jacket he wore, missing his three-piece suit.

Rumple snatched open the door, greeted by a fist raised ready to knock the door again. On the other side of the door stood Hook… No, Rogers. 'He's Rogers here', he told himself, watching as Rogers lowered his hand down, awkwardly looking between Rumple and the floor.

"I thought something had happened to you." Rogers informed him.

Rumple opened the door wider. "Not to me, dear… Rogers. What do you want?"

The younger man scrunched his forehead at Rumple. "It's after ten." Rogers pointed to his watch. "The Captain was expecting you at the precinct an hour ago."

"Indeed." He muttered glancing back into the apartment, his apartment.

"Yes, well… Are you working today or not?" His partner asked him, shifting his weight with his hips.

Rumple smiled crookedly at Rogers. "No time like the present, dearie."


	2. Chapter 2

They rode in Rogers's car and pulled up to the kerb outside of the station. Rumple squinted up at the building through the passenger window, fighting through the haze of his memories. It felt like he had lived a lifetime in the precinct. So many offices, friends if he dared, had come and gone over the years. Many of them had moved to other precincts, while a few had died in the line of duty. More to add to the toll Rumple had known over the centuries of his life. So many people had come into his life and left this existence for the next. Just as she had done. Leaving him to find his way back to her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rogers asked from the driver's seat, his fake hand forced the gear lever into park.

Rumple daydreamed for a second, her face brighter than the sunlight glistening off the windows of the building, and snapped his head to look partly in Rogers direction. "I don't need you worrying about me. I can take care of myself."

"Whatever you say, mate." The younger man said opening his car door and climbed out of the car, leaving Rumple alone in the car after he slammed his door shut. Rumple sat and watched Rogers walk around the front of the car. He looked exactly the same. No older. No younger. Than the last time he had seen the real Hook.

" _I hear you and Belle are going to see the world." His voice had startled Rumple, causing the older man to twist at the waist to see his old nemesis. Rumple's chest heaved in and out. A dark whisper suggested turning the pirate into a snail, but Rumple chose to ignore it and turned back to the suitcase he was packing in the back of his shop._

" _She's always wanted to see the world." Rumple supplied, carefully packing the chipped teacup into his case._

 _His boots clunked on the wooden floor of the shop, as Hook drew closer, saying. "That's all Milah ever wanted."_

" _Yes, well…" Guilt swept through Rumple and stilled his movements, his hand posed ready to pick up the books he had put to one side. "We both can agree that I was not the man destined to give her what she wanted."_

" _No, I guess you weren't." Hook said coming to a stop at the end of Rumple's workbench._

" _Is there something I can do for you?" Rumple asked in a hope of changing the subject from his first wife._

 _The corner of Hook's lip quirked briefly into a smile. "I've come about Henry."_

" _Henry…?" Rumple shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the movement allowing him to face Hook. "What about my grandson?"_

" _He wants to see the world." Hook stated with a grin, playing with the tip of his hook between his fingers._

"Weaver?" Rogers called, standing on the sidewalk a couple of feet away from the car. Jolted back to reality, Rumple tugged the latch to unlock his door and exited the car, causally closing the door. Rogers face was full of concern, but Rumple ignored it, striding by the younger man to head to the station's entrance.

The precinct was busy with chatter and phones ringing as Rumple entered the building, standing just inside the doorway. He blinked at the memories that flashed through his mind. An overload of sensations as his curse persona tried to reinstate itself. Shaking his head at the memories, trying to dislodge them, Rumple jumped when Rogers clamped his hand down onto his shoulder.

"You okay?" Rogers asked for the millionth time that morning.

Snatching his shoulder out of Rogers grasp, Rumple seethed. "Yes."

"Hey! Weaver's back!" Cried a male voice. A joyous chorus of cheers echoed throughout the building. Feeling eyes watching him, Rumple forced a smile and gave the officers hanging in the foyer curt bow. The action felt like something the Weaver persona would do. Always happy to recall a tale or two for the boys in the locker room. Exaggerating tales to encourage the wonderment of his fellow officers.

A balding officer sat in the small office to his right stood up and leaned through the small window, smiling at Rumple as he said. "You wouldn't have been shot, if Eagle Scout here wasn't your partner."

"And if you had been my partner, I probably would be dead." Rumple slung back, watching the amused look on the officer's face falter as he skulked back into his office and sat down at his desk.

"You didn't need to do that." Rogers mumbled.

Rumple turned his head to the side, eyeing Rogers through the corner of his eye. "Some people need to learn their place, dearie."

Rogers face hung low, trying to hide his face from the officer, spying on the two detectives from the safety of his office. Striding purposefully, Rumple remembered how exaggerated Weaver's walk was, swinging his arms back and forth as he walked. His body naturally new the floorplan of the precinct, not giving Rumple much trouble as he found his way to the stairs and ascended them effortlessly to the bullpen of the detectives. Rogers was close behind him, following like the faithful puppy he was becoming. The idea of Hook being in his service made Rumple chuckle as he reached the landing for the next floor.

" _You're my oldest friend!" Rumple said gleefully and drove his hand into Hook's chest, snatching the man's heart out of his chest. The heart pumped in his hand. The blood red inside the heart danced with the darkness that coincide. Slowly, Rumple rotated his hand to show the heart to Hook, tied to the cast iron fence._

" _Get on with it then." Hook urged, torn between looking at his heart and the mansion that contained his beloved. "Just do it!"_

" _Oh no…" Rumple moved his gaze from Hook to Hook's heart, beating strong in the palm of his hand. "I promised you, we'd have some fun first." He stepped towards the captured pirate. "You're going to do everything that I say, because you're my puppet now. You're going to find another way to fill that hat with the power it needs and then…" Rumple paused and looked deep into Hook's eyes. "Then I'll kill you!"_

Rumple stumbled at the top of the stairs, almost toppling backwards down the stairs, if he had not grabbed the banister in time. A strong hand grabbed his right arm, hauling him forward and back in balance.

"Weaver, seriously, if you don't feel up…" Rogers was sincere. Rumple knew that, could hear it, but forcefully shrugged the younger man's assistance away.

"No! I'm fine!" Rumple insisted, yanking down the front of his camouflage jacket. "I don't need you mothering me."

Rogers stood indifferent and held up his hands, surrendering his attempts to help Rumple. Rubbing at his aching side, Rumple pushed himself forward with the use of the banister and headed down the corridor that led to the Captain's office. He knew he had to report in. Receive the glare of 'You should really be on leave' look, while the Captain handed over his new case, silently thankful he would not have to pay anyone overtime for covering his case load.

As he approached the glass door etched with 'Captain Houton', Rumple breathed in deeply as he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and twisted the cool metal knob. The door shuddered open but opened easily enough, allowing Rumple to enter. The smell of over brewed coffee hit Rumple as he entered the office. He squinted his eyes at the smell, fighting the urge to raise the back of his hand to cover his nose from the awful smell. His eyes spied the coffee maker, the jug half full with black coffee.

 _The waft of coffee grew strong for a moment as Granny leaned forward towards Rumple. "Oh and I charge extra for the pickles."_

 _Rumple made an acknowledging noise to her, but Granny had already retracted herself away from the table and waltzed off back to her kitchen. Watching her walk away, Rumple inwardly grumbled about Granny to himself. He noticed Belle roll her eyes at the exchange before she fingered at the food on her plate._

 _Feeling a need to explain, Rumple gestured with his hand in the direction Granny had left, saying as he leaned forward over the table. "I've a complicated relationship with her." Seeing she was indifferent to his comment, Rumple pushed forward to lighten the mood. "As I do with most people."_

 _Belle lightly snorted at him and said, "Well, it I'd… did take me a little time to get to know you". He could feel himself smiling at her comment, remembering their time at the Dark Castle, as she added. "They will."_

"Weaver!" His Captain barked at him, waking him from his daydream. Stood in the doorway to his Captain's office, his hand still held the doorknob to the door in his hand. The cool brass a nice sensation in his hot hand. Rumple could feel himself smiling. The corner of his lips turned up enough to reveal the dimples in his cheeks. A smile reserved only for her. Seeing her beautiful smile always made him beam.

Captain Houton brow was creased into many lines as he stared at where Rumple was stood, waiting impatiently as he said. "Weaver, what the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing, Captain." Rumple fell back into character and let go of the doorknob, taking an exaggerated step further into the office.

"You better not be trying to come back in here for more leave." The captain tossed his pen down onto the desk. "I can't have my best detective laying up lame at home."

"You got anything for me?" Rumple asked crossing his arms over his chest.

"Paperwork." Houton muttered aligning himself forward over his desk and pick up his pen he had discarded.

Rumple pulled a face and dropped his arms down to his sides. "Paperwork?"

Captain Houton's eyebrows raised up his forehead. "Yes." Pointing with his pen towards his doorway, he added. "There's a stack of it from before you were shot and things to go through from the shooting. I want it completed by the end of the day."

"Really, dearie?" Rumple questioned in disbelief.

"Yes, dearie." Houton exaggerated 'dearie' and gestured once again towards his doorway. "Now, go and sort it, so I can sign it off."

Shaking his head, Rumple turned and walked out of the Captain's office closing the door behind him. Rumple paused as the door clicked into place, spying Rogers lingering nearby, giving him the concern look he had seen a long time ago.

 _Waving his hand over the shop in front of him, he could feel the unfamiliar burn of the light magic emanating from his hand, casting the protection spell over his shop to protect Belle. As he casted the spell, he could fell the usual stabbing sensation inside of his heart. The reminder that what he was doing was wrong, but he knew in the end it would all be worth it. Once he was freed from the dagger, he would be free to live whatever life he wanted with Belle and he could give her all that she had ever dreamed._

 _As he finished casting the spell, Hook approached him holding the box that contained the sorcerer's hat. "Is it done?"_

 _Hook slowed his step to a stop, his gaze focused on the door of the shop, and said. "You know, she truly loves you." Rumple pivoted to face Hook and took a step closing the gap between them, as Hook continued. "You could have her forever… For all the power in the world, it's your choice."_

" _I don't need to choose, thank you." Rumple felt his brow tighten with the annoyance he felt with Hook trying to meddle and snatched the box out of Hook's hand as he sauntered by Hook. "I can and will have both."_

The memory of the man he used to be, the man who would give into the desire for power rather than eternal love, sickened him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Swallowing down the taste, Rumple pushed himself away from the Captain's door and marched down the corridor to the detectives' bullpen. Rogers fell into step behind him.

There was a chorus of whoops and cheers as he came through the open doorway to the bullpen. Staying in character, Rumple waved off their happy cheers and headed straight for his desk. The paperwork in his in-tray was stacked high, while a couple of files sat stacked in the middle of his desk. Negotiating his way around his desk, Rumple pulled out his desk chair and dropped into the chair causing it to creak.

"Do you need anything?" Rogers asked looming over Rumple's desk.

"I've already told you," Rumple sneered up at Rogers. "Stop mothering me."

Rogers held up his hands in surrender and backed away from Rumple's desk. Watching him with his eyes, Rumple picked up the files in the middle of his desk and moved them to one side to gain access to his keyboard, while Rogers wandered over to his own desk and sulkily sat down at his desk, chancing a glance at Rumple.

A leather jacket moved into his view and blocked his view of Rogers. Moving his gaze up, Rumple came face to face with Regina… Or Roni as she was known in this curse. Regina smiled at him and pulled something out from her bag, and reached over his desk to place it down in front of him. His eyes immediately diverted to the bottle that had been presented to him.

Gesturing to the bottle, Regina told him. "It's a get well gift."

Leaning back in his chair, Rumple recognised as always a soul in need and asked. "How can I help you, Roni?"

The smile she had shown him quickly disappeared and shifted on the spot with her hand coming to rest briefly on the young girl beside her. Rumple dared not to move his gaze to his great granddaughter. She had not aged much since the last time he had seen her before the curse had been casted in the Enchanted Forest.

"Can you find out, if a certain woman applied to adopt a baby in Boston?" Regina asked nervously, pausing as she spoke. "I'm not sure about the year."

"Her name's Regina Mills." Lucy supplied, looking Rumple dead in the eye. For a second, he was sure she would realise who he was, much as her father had during the first curse. Always inquisitive. Too clever for his own good.

Turning his head to the side, avoiding her gaze, Rumple sat forward and pointed to the bottle Regina had brought him, saying. "That bought you this conversation." Pointing again to the bottle, Rumple added. "Now, what would make me want to take this on?"

He kept his gaze fixed on Regina as she pondered it for a second and then leant down onto his desk, bringing them near enough eye level. "I'll owe you one."

The imp inside of his revelled at hearing its favourite words. It had been a long time since Rumple was able to make a deal with someone. It was just that ever sweeter that the deal was to be done with his old friend and pupil.

His lips grew wide at the thought as he said. "Then we have a deal."


End file.
